The Light and How to Swing It
by Alexis Kent
Summary: Navigating political intrigue and troubled times, four humans hope to find peace in the face of an uncertain future-- and shadowed pasts.
1. Chapter 1

(( _**Author's note:** This is a story I've had floating around in my head for a while, and I'm very excited about seeing where it goes. Characters and events are based off of a storyline on the Emerald Dream server; I can't take credit for the characters of Valandris, Tamm, or Symion, or their creative genius. I can only do my best to share it. Enjoy )) _

**G**oldshire was a small town, with neatly-built houses spaced comfortably along the cobbled roads and tired old horses tethered in front of each. While self-sufficient in its own right, with most material comforts readily at hand, most chose to turn to nearby Stormwind for their needs. Indeed, next to the grand capital city, Goldshire paled in comparison in everything but its specialty brew. The ale attracted people from lands far away: the occasional Dwarf or even Night Elf could be seen at the Lion's Pride Inn, chatting with the amiable Innkeeper Farley.

Night was falling and the usual crowd of farmers and adventurers and ne'er-do-wells stamped along the wide road leading to the Pride. The sound of merriment and the occasional brawl drifted out into the night air. Tonight, there was quite a crowd gathered inside. A drunken Dwarf danced on a table, singing in his own tongue while swinging around a dangerously full mug of ale. The contents occasionally splashed onto one of the audience, who, being drunk themselves, laughed and cheered the dancer on.

In the corner was seated a lady who looked decidedly set apart from the rest. She sat very straight in her chair, with hands that looked like they had never seen a day's work clasped primly on her knees. Her clothing was a fine make: silks and velvets of a rich purple hue, the likes of which were the distinct pride of the finest tailors in Stormwind. Rich copper hair flowed down elegantly to her shoulders, accentuating fair skin and intelligent blue eyes.

Most seemed to be intimidated by her sophistication, keeping their distance and making no untoward advances. Thus she remained quite alone in the little corner until a man shouldered through the crowd and, with a small, almost mocking bow, seated himself beside her. He was a tall, wiry sort of fellow, with decidedly handsome features partly concealed by a neatly-trimmed goatee.

"Symion Turindale, at your service," he said with a nod, lips curling into a smile.

Returning the smile, she extended a dainty hand with all the air of nobility, saying, "Valandris of the House Arinian."

His smile froze momentarily before he settled back comfortably in his chair. Apparently he did not feel compelled to say any more, nor did he show any sign of being impressed at her title--much to Valandris' annoyance. The crowd continued to grow until people pressed in on all sides, bumping into the chairs and sending them crashing back into the walls.

One man collapsed onto the chair beside Symion, grinning blearily at nobody in particular. His breath smelled heavily of rank liquor as he stood waveringly and announced in a cheerful voice, "Shtormwind's gonna get b-blowed up! Happy new year!" He thrust his mug into the air as though in a toast, then staggered merrily away into the crowd.

"It would serve them right," said Symion under his breath. Catching Valandris staring at him, aghast, he smiled thinly and looked away. What followed would have been an awkward silence, save for the raucous din that pressed in on all sides. At length, Valandris ventured stiffly, "That is a terrible thing to say."

"Yes, it is," returned Symion brightly, tossing her a careless smile. It was not returned. Looking away again, he spied a familiar figure standing not far away. "Tamm!" he called out, rising to his feet and waving a hand in the air. "About time you showed up. Stop skulking about and say hello to the lady."

The man who approached was taller than even Symion, and considerably more well-built. His skin was dark and his hair darker, the latter of which being brutishly groomed and falling a bit wildly about his angular face. He wore mismatched armor and had in his hands a large mace, carrying it much like a child fondly totes about a favorite toy. His features were unimpressive: a wide nose above a wider mouth that was set in a stern line. Indeed, as Valandris took in his appearance, it seemed that the only thing that set him apart from a slow farmer in stolen armor was his eyes. Long and green, they too were stern, penetrating, and keenly intelligent.

He bowed slightly to her. "I am Sir Tamm Tosscobble, ordained paladin of the Holy Light," he said with distinct pride in his voice. After Valandris had been introduced (Tamm seemed no more impressed by her title than his friend had been), Symion motioned to a chair. Tamm refused it in favor of standing against the wall. He seemed rather ill at ease, occasionally shrugging his broad shoulders beneath the heavy armor.

"Tamm, buy me a drink," said Symion, as brightly as ever.

The young paladin shook his head with a grudging smile. "No."

Less than a minute later, Tamm was trudging away to the bar.

Symion was briefly distracted by a rather comely young lass who shot a very friendly smile his way. He walked up to her with a bit of a swagger and the two began to converse in low tones. Valandris could not but help watching as she sat alone, feeling rather miffed.

Tamm returned momentarily, carrying with some distaste a pint of ale. He looked with some confusion to the chair Symion had vacated. "He's over there," said Valandris with just a hint of a sneer, pointing in his direction. Tamm followed her gaze and sighed knowingly.

Valandris fidgeted, drumming her fingers idly on her knee or tapping her toe on the ground. It was right that something be said to lift the silence, but Tamm was skulking silently by the wall again, seeming not at all inclined to speak. "You are good friends?" she asked at length.

"Yes," he answered with a quiet chuckle. Whether he was laughing at the question or the answer was unclear.

A cry of protest rose up from somewhere in the tavern. "That girl!" howled a bleary-eyed, portly gentleman in a sleeping cap as he stumbled down the stairs. "Caught her in me room, pilfering me pockets!"

The identity of 'that girl' was rather uncertain as the victim thrust a chubby finger vaguely towards the crowd of people. "Crazy fool," muttered more than a few as they returned contentedly to their drinks. The man puffed out his chest and began explaining in the most animated language that he was _not_ crazy and there _was_ a girl and that she _had _been in his room, pilfering his pockets.

As he panted and puffed, a small, dark-haired woman was creeping cautiously down the stairs. She caught sight of the man ranting to his unreceptive audience and smiled triumphantly.

The smile faded when she looked ahead and saw the dull metal of Tamm's armor. She slowly lifted her head until her wide eyes met his. "Evenin'," she said in a low voice. "Lovely night, wouldn't you say?" She spoke lightly, almost carelessly, though her small frame trembled as she turned on her heel to continue towards the door.

Valandris remained seated, shaking her head at the strange goings-on of this little inn. As she was about to remark to Tamm on how very different this was from Stormwind, she felt a mug thrust into her hands.

"For Simon," said the paladin, stepping back. "I will return shortly. Excuse me."

Valandris frowned and held the mug away from her. Paladins and scoundrels and pickpockets! What news this would be for those back at home!

* * *

**A**way from the noise and commotion of the Pride, Tamm felt his head beginning to clear as he wandered aimlessly along the road. Where was that blasted girl? Certainly she couldn't have gotten far, but save for a few horses and chicken, the area looked to be entirely devoid of life.

He looked behind the horses and every bush, up in trees and down in holes. He looked until he had nearly forgotten what he was looking for, and only wished to find it. There was nothing, however, and he sat on the grass with a sigh, reluctant to return to the crowded inn and its drunken inhabitants. The night breeze was cool and refreshing, much to be preferred over the stifling heat of so many people crushed together inside the Pride.

But, he remembered with some annoyance, Symion was there and needed to be looked after. Already he had probably gotten himself into some trouble or other; one that Tamm would likely have to get him out of.

With this in mind, he rose to his feet and began trudging towards the warm light of the inn.

A stirring of the shadows in the corner of his eye stopped him in his tracks.

Tamm turned. "Come out," he beckoned, spreading his feet as he waited. There was nothing: no answer or movement in the darkness. Again Tamm called out to the girl he knew must be hiding not five feet from where he now stood. Still there was no answer, and his frustration grew until he remembered the look in her eyes as she had passed him in the inn: pleading and fearful. Gentling his tone, he took a step forward and said, "Come out. You have nothing to fear from me."

That was the wrong thing to say. A flat out lie, actually, since he had intended to tote her to the authorities straightaway. He grimaced and took a step back, hoping she would keep herself hidden.

She did not.

The woman who stepped out from the shadows was even shorter than she had seemed inside, being little over five feet above the ground. She was thin, though not in the same way as the stylish ladies of Stormwind who so prided themselves on their trim figures. It looked as though her meals were few and far between, and her clothing was ragged and patched. Her dark hair was tied up loosely and perhaps rather carelessly, and sections of it slipped away to frame her narrow, unnaturally pale face. The gray eyes that had so stricken Tamm earlier were now staring warily at him.

Tamm stood silent for long moments, wondering whether it was best to lecture her on the evils of stealing or to assure her that he meant no harm. "I am Sir Tamm Tosscobble, ordained paladin of the Holy Light," he said suddenly, bowing stiffly. It was foolish to introduce himself, he realized, but nothing else was coming to mind.

The young thief looked caught off guard by Tamm's words. "Iyona," she said slowly, ducking her head in greeting.

An owl hooted as it flew overhead. Tamm shifted uneasily. "In a more intelligent crowd, you would have been caught."

"I know."

She was so very blithe about it that Tamm frowned and wanted to tell her to be careful. It then struck him that he was supposed to be correcting this girl of her evil ways, not telling her to do them carefully. He coughed. "How much did you take from him?" he asked at last.

"Enough," she said with a shrug.

"How much is that?"

"Couple silver."

Tamm held out an armored hand, expression stern. "Let's see it."

"And what makes ya think I'll just hand it over, holy man?" Her tone was light and cheerful, but the narrowing of her eyes was not.

"Because," he answered gravely, "It is the right thing to do."

Iyona did not answer immediately, and for a small space of time they simply stared at each other, wills battling. Finally she tossed her head dismissively and opened her hand to reveal the silver. "You win, but y'have a very strange idea of right if y'think that bloated fool needs a warm meal more than me." She smiled winningly, and the coins fell into his gauntleted hand with a clink.

Tamm's mouth twitched slightly at the comment, but he quickly hardened his expression and cleared his throat. "The difference is, he earned it. Now, I'm going to return this to him, and I want you to be waiting here when I come back." He turned, then added over his shoulder, "Don't move."

She didn't move, which was more than he expected. He returned with a plate full of food, which was more than she expected. Both sat quietly in the near-darkness, not entirely knowing what to make of the other. She picked at her food, he fiddled with his armor, and both studiously avoided looking at the other. Several times did Iyona try to break the silence, only to be answered with monosyllabic grunts.

"You, uh… don't have to stay here, y'know," she ventured.

Tamm looked up then, apparently rather surprised. "I know."

"Then…"

He straightened, frowning. "As an ordained paladin of the holy Light, it's my duty to uphold virtue and honor. And frankly, miss, it's not safe or honorable for any young lady to be out alone this time of night--"

"Tamm!"

Symion's bellowing call was followed by Symion himself, tramping through the bushes. His eyes were red, his shirt was rumpled, and he had a half-empty bottle of rum in his hand. Surveying the two, Iyona perched on a log and Tamm standing opposite her, he grinned. "So this is where you run off to, old fellow! Not very paladin-y, having little midnight rendezvous like these."

Tamm sputtered in protest, the only coherent words being "paladin of the holy Light" and "how dare you!"

From the light in her eyes and curve of her lips, it was easy enough to see that Iyona did not share Tamm's indignation. Introductions were made, and there was only brief confusion with the slurring of "Shymon"'s name. Tamm found himself rather miffed; this was certainly not the way he had intended to spend the evening. Instead of lecturing the no-good little pickpocket on the evils of stealing, he found himself having a lovely little tea party in the middle of the woods.

To make matters worse, the insufferable Symion flirted with the girl with every breath. She seemed to enjoy it, too; back and forth the banter flew, as light and easy as anything. It was indecent, it was improper, it was --

"Goodness gracious!" A wide-eyed and very flustered Valandris appeared before them, seemingly out of nowhere, clutching at full tankard of ale. She held herself very tall and regal indeed, though she looked as though she had stepped right out of a windstorm. "Sir Turindale, I believe this is yours," she said stiffly, holding out the mug.

"Val!" beamed Symion, peering down into the frothy brew. "That's a real lady for you. Beauty and ale."

"Dear me. That's rather ungentlemanly to suggest." Leaning forward, Valandris surveyed the trio and raised her brows, whispering, "I had a_dreadful_ time in there. More than one man confused me for the bar wench!" Standing back, she waited eagerly for a collective gasp of horror.

There was none. Instead, Tamm spirited away the ale, grumbling, "You've had enough for tonight, Simon. We're going to leave this blasted town."

"You can leave if ya want, holy man," piped up Iyona, smiling past him to Symion. "I'm more'n happy to keep your friend company."

With that, Tamm knew his stay in Goldshire would be a long one.


	2. Chapter 2

It has been established that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. In this case, the action (getting drunk) was followed by a rather unpleasant reaction (having a delightful hangover). Symion should have, perhaps, known this by now, but in some things (or all, depending on who you asked) he was a slow learner. And so he found himself the next morning, sprawled out on the floor of his rented room, smelling like an army of pigs and mumbling curses at anything that moved.

The choicest of insults were directed at Tamm, who made a great deal of a jingle and jangle as he tromped about the room, all bedecked in his mail and plate. Indeed, only Tamm would be wearing a full suit of armor at seven o' clock in the morning, just having said his prayers and now turning to a small book of poetry.

Throwing an arm over his eyes, Symion groaned, "Tamm."

The paladin looked up with a grunt, snapping the book shut. "Hm?"

"Get me a drink."

"No."

"Yes. And close that bloody window. It's not very paladin-y of you, trying to blind me."

Scowling, Tamm clomped over to the window and yanked the curtains open even further. "It is very 'paladin-y', as it lets in more light and paladins happen to _like _the Light." Another tug. "And it's your own fault, you know, for spending the whole night rabblerousing--"

Symion raised his arm just slightly, peering at his friend through one eye. "I don't rouse rabble. I revel. There is a difference, you know."

"Either way, it's shameful," scoffed Tamm through a poorly-hidden smile. He paused, forced his expression into a properly stern one, then cleared his throat. "I have some things to see to in town. I'll be back in an hour, and would like to see you behaving like a respectable person by then."

Before Symion could protest to say that he _always _behaved like a respectable person, Tamm was out the door and tromping down the hall with heavy, thudding footsteps.

The Lion's Pride was never very crowded during the morning hours, so it was easy enough to find Farley and ask about any damages Symion might have caused the night before. There were none, amazingly enough, and Tamm left the inn quite content that his coinpurse was none the lighter.

It was quite a lovely morning, and he found himself quite content, even whistling a little tune as he strolled along the little path leading to the blacksmith's. A few children, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, stopped to ogle his armor and pepper him with questions about his mace -- was it heavy? could they hold it? how many orcs had he killed with it, anyway?

Feeling quite the public figure, Tamm continued on his way. Off went the chain mail and plate when he reached the smithy, rustling and shining in the morning sun as it was laid over the anvil. To some, the repairing of armor was an onerous, loathsome task, but he quite enjoyed the chance it gave him think

Other times he would not think at all, simply savor the silence and relish the feel of metal yielding beneath his hands. This morning proved to be one of those times, and so he worked and worked, quite forgetting about the unpleasantness of the night before, especially the incident with the pickpocket.

Or at least, he had quite forgotten until he spotted her not a hundred feet away. Iyona sat quite alone by the pond, nearly hidden among the swaying bulrushes. Away from the noise and bustle of the town, and surrounded by nature, she had such a peaceful innocence about her that he had to smile.

The smile faded a moment later when he was struck with the impropriety of the situation. Here he was, alone on the outskirts of town, _spying _on a woman? The very thought made him blush. He was not spying; he had simply been minding his own business tending to his armor and _she_had come out of nowhere. He could hardly help that.

His armor -- oh, Light, he was quite without his armor. With only a patched gray shirt and heavy woolen breeches, he might as well have been half-naked. This would simply not do. Panic rose in his throat, and he hammered away at his breastplate that much quicker.

This was not the time for silly fears. It was a time to be composed, and face the situation responsibly. And so, with a nervous sweat forming over his brow, he began to think, and think hard. Perhaps he could flee to the inn unnoticed, and send Symion back for the armor. Yes, that would do it.

As he was plotting his path of escape, something came along that hindered his plans considerably. Or rather, it was a someone; the lady Valandris was daintily meandering down the lane with a package tucked neatly beneath an arm. There was no way out.

With his fate sealed and options few, Tamm did the only thing left to him, and hid against the wall to wait for the storm to pass.

-

Quite unaware of all these things, Iyona remained contentedly in her own world. It was beautiful, this time of day, with the sun shining through the canopy of leaves overhead and its gentle rays chasing away the chill of early morning. There were no crowds to avoid, people to swindle, or expectations to meet; there was only her and the trees and the quiet rippling waters.

It was easy, in these moments, to imagine she was something entirely different than what she was. Perhaps a fine lady, regal and distinguished, parading through her garden paradise. She wouldn't be wearing the same patched and faded leather, of course. No, the other Iyona would be in silks and velvets, with a feather in her hair.

Such daydreams usually ended when she'd catch a glimpse of herself in the smooth surface of the lake. The real Iyona, pale and drawn, would stare back at her and remind her she was just Iyona the Pickpocket.

Others took great care to remind her of this as well, like that Tamm Tosscobble. He was all duty and honor and virtue, sneering down his nose at her wicked ways. It could hardly be counted a personal fault, of course; all paladins were like that. What's more, he had every right to disapprove.

Iyona smiled in spite of herself, remembering his indignation at Symion's antics. He had turned a fierce crimson, nostrils flaring and eyes narrowing, waving his hands around between gasps of "how dare you!"

Yet, for all of his righteous anger, the look in his eyes had been undeniably gentle when he had come with his offering of food. It was easy to imagine, for a moment, that beneath all his gruff exterior there was kindness.

A quiet rustling drew her attention back to the present, where the Arinian woman was standing a few feet away. She wore a bright smile, one Iyona didn't entirely trust.

"Good morning!" chirped the lady, tossing her hair over a shoulder. It was really quite ridiculous, the way it shone and sparkled in the sun. "We really didn't get much of a chance to be properly introduced yesterday, so I thought I'd come over and say hello! I'm glad I found you."

Iyona smiled as well, while doing her best to convey disinterest in her expression. "Yeah? Got your name yesterday. Valandris."

"Yes, well…" Valandris paused, frowning, apparently at a loss for words. Nearby there was a sound of rustling mail and iron clanging against stone, but neither woman paid much mind to it. A moment later Valandris brightened, taking the package from under her arm and holding it to Iyona.

"What?"

"It's a gift," answered Valandris, half-singing in excitement. "Do open it, please."

Opening it proved to be more difficult than would be expected. Iyona cursed (quietly, of course, so Valandris wouldn't hear and faint) as she tugged and yanked and coaxed the bright blue ribbon to no avail. Finally she took a small knife from her boot and cut through both the bow and wrapping paper, tossing the shredded remains to the side.

Beneath it all lay a neatly-folded dress of some airy fabric Iyona couldn't even name. Dark crimson throughout, it was trimmed with gold and just as fine as anything worn in Stormwind. A thrill of excitement rose in her chest, and she knew it showed in her eyes. In that moment, she didn't care; she allowed herself to smile. "Ain't this pretty?" she murmured, more to herself than the lady standing beside her.

"I'm glad you think so," edged Valandris' voice into her thoughts. "I'm still very new at tailoring, and I had to guess at the measurements, but--"

"Ya made it for me?"

Valandris nodded, beaming. "I do hope you don't think it terribly rude of me! I know I might as well be a stranger to you, but well -- I thought it might be, ah, nice."

Iyona ducked her head and mumbled her thanks, which was answered with a "not at all." A heavy silence followed, Iyona staring at the dress and Valandris staring at her hands. Eventually groggy voices and the creak of wheels and the clip-clop of hooves drifted to them; the town was waking up.

"Guess I'd better be goin'," announced Iyona, scrambling suddenly to her feet. She shuffled a few feet away, then snuck a furtive glance over her shoulder. Valandris remained by the lake, smiling brilliantly at her. Clearly she thought she had just done a very noble thing, and was nearly bursting at the seams with oozy good feelings.

Quickening her pace, Iyona sharply rounded the corner of the blacksmith and ran straight into a very surprised Tamm Tosscobble. He gaped down at her, slack-jawed, looking like he had just been caught stealing a hymnal.

"Miss Elras!" he half-shouted, scooting back from her and clutching his armor to himself like a shield. He coughed, then continued in a more appropriate tone. "Miss Elras. Excuse me, I was just, er, not expecting to see you. Here. Not that I didn't want to see you, or that you're not allowed here, but I--" Tamm rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. "Er… excuse-me-good-day!"

With that, he nearly ran back to the inn, his armor making a horrible clanging sound that must have carried to Stormwind. Giggling to herself, Iyona noted smugly that she had never seen a paladin blush before.


	3. Chapter 3

(** _Author's Note: _**_For those of you who have left reviews, thank you! I admit I'm a sucker for compliments, and it's always encouraging to know that people are enjoying my work. Cheers! )_

**T**wo long minutes later, Tamm blustered into the Lion's Pride and slammed the heavy oaken door behind him with a loud _thump. _He drew a ragged breath and yanked his fingers through his hair, which did nothing to tame its bedraggled appearance. With a snort of annoyance, he straightened and began stomping heavily up the stairs, berating himself for running away from a woman -- a woman who, he was fairly certain, had been laughing at him when his back was turned.

"Rather in a hurry to see me, aren't you?"

The clipped, polished tones of Symion were, at this moment, less welcome to him than the snarling of orcs. Tamm looked up grudgingly to see Symion standing at the top of the staircase, one hand on the railing and the other on his hip. For a man who had been half-conscious on the floor of his room only an hour ago, he looked remarkably well. His clothing was immaculate, his hair perfectly coifed, and his smile both dazzling and smug.

"Just returning from a walk," snorted Tamm, brushing past him. "Praying for _your_soul, I might add."

"Good chap," drawled Symion, leaning lazily over the railing to look at those below. "I can feel the debauchery leaving me already."

The two entered into the tiny room that had served as their room for the past week, and Tamm began haphazardly tossing things into a rucksack. "What you need," he announced to the air, "Is a bit of hard work. This filthy place has got you thinking of nothing but ale and -- _women._"

Symion nodded cheerfully at this.

"_So,_" Tamm continued, his voice low and solemn as if he were giving a sermon, "It's time we return to Redridge. The gnoll trouble there is getting worse, from what I hear, and of course Stormwind can't spare anyone." His voice had grown lower, and his eyes darker; if not for the copy of _The Light's Lovingkindness _in his hands, he would have looked quite intimidating.

Across from him, Symion seemed to lose his smile for a moment, his mood apparently changing with Tamm's. "The soldiers are all too busy being bribed by the nobles to help, I suppose?"

"Likely."

"Well, it's clearly our moral duty to rush bravely into battle for the good of mankind and all that," said Symion, tapping his nose knowingly. "For the moment I'll pretend it has nothing to do with you wanting me killed."

This earned a grunt from Tamm, who was surveying the area. It wasn't as bad as it could have been; the furniture was still intact. The muddy tracks around the room didn't add much to its appearance, but that could hardly be helped. One of the paintings was just a bit off-center, and the rug was bunched up by the door--

"If you'd rather stay, then by all means…"

Giving the painting just the slightest tweak to the left, Tamm tromped out the door with Symion following at his heels. "It's really a shame to leave, you know," said the latter, who had been keeping up a running commentary on the virtues of Goldshire for the past several minutes. "The pickings here are rather good. Even the street urchins -- that Iyona is something of a looker, wouldn't you say?"

No sooner could Tamm sputter, "Not at all -- ridiculous -- totally inappropriate!" than he felt a tap on the shoulder. The two men turned to see Valandris, beaming up at them as though her dearest friends had just turned up for a spot of tea. "Hello!"

"Ah, Val," grinned Symion, smoothly positioning himself between Tamm and Valandris. "I was just telling Tamm here what a looker you are! He disagreed, but of course, he's never been known for his taste in women."

Both the noblewoman and paladin turned red; the former blushing the delicate pink of a lady trying not to seem as flattered as she is, and the latter turning the vivid shade of red reserved for those who would rip off his friend's head, if he could get away with it.

"I would stay to apologize for Simon's manners, Lady Valandris, but we're both needed in Redridge and should be--"

"Oh, to fight the wolf-men?" gasped Valandris eagerly, clapping her hands together. "I should come with you! -- May I? I'm a mage, you know, and have been looking for a chance to better myself, and…"

After enduring a short speech all about Valandris's family and connections and their expectations of her, and after a short argument between Tamm and Symion over the virtue of allowing her along, the two finally managed to leave Goldshire and head east.

* * *

**T**he journey to Redridge was uneventful. As the sky darkened, the terrain grew rougher and the animals fiercer. When teasing Tamm grew old, Symion took to straying off the path for what he called "big game hunting." This consisted of taking aim at a spider with his crudely-crafted boomstick, missing terribly, and scaring off all the wildlife in a mile with the ensuing explosion. Whether or not he actually hit his targets was of little consequence; he enjoyed himself immensely until Tamm dragged him back to the road.

The sun was just dipping below the crimson hills as a rusted sign saying _Lakeshire_came into view, creaking as it swayed in the breeze. Past it, narrow streets wove haphazardly between buildings that had clearly seen better days and splayed out towards dusty patches of soil that might be gardens. It was a far cry from Goldshire; there was no song on the air, no line of merrymakers trouping to the inn or merchants hawking their wares. The only people to be seen were a few poorly-outfitted guards looking to the mountains, the light of their lanterns illuminating their haggard faces.

Silence hung heavy in the night air, broken only by the grunts of pigs and the soft lapping of water on the shores of the lake. Skulking several paces behind Tamm as they entered the city, Symion had fallen unusually quiet, his few attempts at humor falling rather flat. The sight of the shabby little town seemed to have cowed him, or perhaps it was simply the exhaustion of the journey setting in.

"Cheerful little place, this," he muttered, shouldering his pack and stepping gingerly over a mud puddle.

The road sloped gently upwards, gradually widening and leading to a square of sorts. It was neither an attractive nor welcoming sight; with crates stacked five feet high and rotting planks of wood strewn about, the area seemed like something of a warehouse. At the far end of the square stood what was clearly the grandest building in town. Towering above everything else at three stories high, it was remarkably well-kept, down to the last flower in the window-boxes.

Pushing through the double swinging doors, they were greeted by a wave of warm air and the quiet murmur of conversation. The room was large and well-lit, filled with rows of tables covered in red-checkered tablecloths. Those gathered seemed a decent, respectable lot, with friendly faces and simple clothing. A few offered nods in the way of the newcomers, others smiled.

The change in Symion was almost immediate; either the coziness of the tavern or the presence of women turned him quickly back into his smiling, winsome self. In a matter of moments he was working his way into the crowd, setting a somewhat jagged course for the pretty barmaid making eyes at him.

"Tosscobble?"

The reedy voice at Tamm's elbow caused him to jump. He turned to see a tiny, wrinkled woman with pristine white hair and smiling eyes. "Ah, I thought it was you," she said, patting his elbow. "It's been ages, child!"

"Miss Perelli." Tamm bowed somewhat stiffly, rather hindered by his armor and bags. "You're looking well."

Waving away the comment with a quiet laugh, Alina Perelli glided towards a small table by the fire and motioned for Tamm to be seated. She moved quite gracefully for someone of her age and her manners were those of a woman who is used to quietly getting her way. "You'll have to forgive me for setting upon you like this so soon after you arrived, but you can hardly blame me, can you? Really, dear, I was starting to worry. I had half a mind to march over to Westfall and hunt you down."

Lowering himself into a chair that was just a bit too small, Tamm bit back a groan of exhaustion. "Actually," he began, trying to find a way to fit his legs under the table, "I left Westfall some time ago. The militia seems to have the situation under control there, and I've been allowing the Light to lead me where I'm needed the most."

Noting the strain in his voice, Alina steepled her fingers together and studied the young man quietly. He was staring at the wilted flower on the table between them, his eyes hooded with weariness and his mouth set in a thin line. "That's nice," she said gently. "Who is your friend?"

Tamm glanced towards Symion, who was predictably chatting with the prettiest women in the room. Apparently he had just said something very witty; all of the girls were laughing, their high-pitched giggles floating towards him. It was a sight Tamm was well-used to, but at the moment it was heavily grating on his nerves. "Symion Turindale," he muttered, rubbing his temples and loathing the name.

"You didn't meet him in the church, I take it?"

"Elwynn. Some time ago."

Alina smiled. "I take it the two of you didn't come all this way just to see me?"

"Er," stammered Tamm, blinking incredulously at her. "We came because I heard there is a, er, war. Here."

"Oh, it's not so bad," murmured Alina, waving a hand carelessly. "Some of the clashes are a bit rough, but I suppose that's everywhere these days."

A sudden urge of intense dislike for the little woman surged up in Tamm. Ten years ago, a younger and more sprightly Alina had been patting his hand, saying, "_Those Defias aren't so bad, dear. Petty bandits, that's all. You'll find people like them anywhere."_

And so the Lady Perelli had lived happily in her own world of lace and porcelain, blissfully unaware of the things happening outside her very doorstep. It didn't matter if ten hundred soldiers died defending the land on which her pretty little house was built, as long as she could continue to sip her tea and pretend all was right.

The legs of Tamm's chair protested loudly as he shoved away from the table and rose abruptly to his feet. "It's rather late, Miss Perelli; I should look into finding a room."

"Of course, dear," smiled Alina, oblivious to the loathsome stare Tamm was directing at her. "Perhaps you and your friend can drop by for tea tomorrow; it's such lovely weather…"


	4. Chapter 4

**T**he weather was not lovely the next day, nor the day after that. Heavy rains arrived from the south, turning the ground into one swirling mass of dark red mud. The swollen lake lapped at its bank and threatened to spill out into the streets. All through the day and sometimes in the night, the town was a bustle of men filling and piling sandbags by the lake's edge, and women and children towing their belongings to higher ground. Even Lady Perelli was spurred to action, nosing through the crowds with a satchel in one hand and a weathered parasol in the other.

Making his way the opposite way down the street was Tamm, his armor mud-splattered and his shoulders hunched. Rain dripped steadily into his eyes and pooled into his scraggly goatee, and he had long since stopped caring. It was difficult to be concerned with comfort or appearance when he seemed to be watching the destruction of a city being played out slowly before his eyes.

Calmer scenes, of course, played about him as he walked. A mother scolded her children, a girl flirted with her sweetheart, and old men gathered to discuss their livestock. Tamm stopped beneath the overhanging roof of the smithy to yank his hair away from his eyes and simply drink in the sweet sights of normalcy. With every bat of the lashes, or clucking of the tongue, it was blissfully easy to forget the pounding of the rain, the churning of the lake, the ringing of the bells… bells?

Tamm sprinted forward and turned his eyes south, expecting to see waves crashing in through the narrow alleys. But there was nothing, nothing but the clanging of bells and a growing surge of voices. All flirting and scolding and gossiping had stopped; every head was now turning in vain to find the source of the trouble. Out of the corner of his eye, Tamm saw Alina Perelli fleeing to her house, her eyes wide and hat askew. Besides her, everyone seemed rooted to the spot, waiting…

Tamm's questions died on his lips when he spied a lone figure running towards him from the fog. The man skidded to a halt before him; a drenched and breathless Symion. This was Symion as Tamm had never seen him: pale and grim, his eyes wide with fear. "It's the orcs," he whispered hoarsely. "The Blackrock. They're coming."

The next moments were filled with screams and a general commotion that was little more than a blur in Symion's mind. He recalled Tamm thundering by, shouting orders, and the sounds of metal ringing as swords were drawn. The crushing flow of militia and townspeople caught him in the throng and carried him to the shambles that marked the outskirts of Lakeshire. Even to Symion's untrained eye, one look at the muddy field was enough to tell him that this was no place for a battle. Along the road were half-filled sandbags, slumped against each other, and piles of discarded lumber. Abandoned carts were left in the mud, up to the spokes of their wheels in the mire.

After orders had been shouted and a general sense of formation among the ranks had been accomplished, it grew quiet. The silence was broken only by jagged, shivering breaths and the faint rustling of chain mail. All eyes were turned to the nearby hills in grave expectation. Symion felt the moment appropriate for some sort of quip or jibe, but as he drew his two flimsy daggers, the only words to leave his lips were, "Say a prayer for me, Tamm."

Tamm's plated hand fell heavily on Symion's shoulder in response. "Light, please keep Simon far away from Goldshire."

Symion chuckled in spite of himself and shrugged away from Tamm. "Not that kind of prayer, you fool," he said, attempting to twirl the dagger in his right hand. It was a poor attempt, but it somehow made him feel more prepared to face what would come.

A low murmur swept through the crowd. The first orc appeared through the gathering fog, then another, then another -- soon dozens were crawling over the hills. The uniformity of the approaching horde was disturbing; every snarling maw and twisted axe among them had the look of death. Heavy boots slid in the mud, leaving deep furrows in the hillside as the Blackrocks continued their descent.

Tamm had seen little of real battle in his life, only minor skirmishes with the Defias and others of their ilk. But from the moment he felt the weight of his weapon connect with an orc's skull, he felt the usual feeling of disconnectedness wash over him. He gave little thought as to where he swung his mace, or when he should step to the side to avoid a blow; his mind was no longer in the black-and-red hills, but back in the Cathedral. It was not pounding adrenaline coursing through his body, but the Light. Every muscle felt it.

And so he fought, his actions not entirely his own. He could not tell how many orcs he felled, or whose lives were restored by his prayers-- the battle wore on, a blur of clanging metal and crunching bone. Dimly he was aware of Simon fighting nearby.

Gradually, Tamm's head cleared and for the first time he saw the ground strewn with bodies both orcish and human. It was clear that the people of Redridge had won this battle; the few orcs who still drew breath were already captured and bound for interrogation. Tamm breathed a prayer of thanks for the Light's protection before turning his attention to the dead and wounded around him.

The situation, he could tell, was grim. There were far too many casualties and far too few healers to tend them. Tamm knelt by the man closest to him, his stomach turning at the sight of the open flesh exposed by sundered armor. Already the rain was washing away the blood, revealing the full extent of the wound. One look told Tamm that the man should not be alive, but he sensed that a part of the man's spirit still clung to the body.

Silently he beseeched the Light, calling upon the power promised to its faithful servants. A glow formed around his hands and he felt the Light fill him once more. The sensation was not like on the battlefield, when he hardly felt in control of his own body, but rather a clear-headedness that was almost painful. An acute awareness of the moans of the dying made his prayers more difficult to muster-- but all the more heartfelt.

The soldier drew a long, rattling breath. His eyes widened for the sparest of moments before rolling backwards. Tamm continued to pray, calling upon every spell he knew.

Nothing happened.

No longer could Tamm sense a lingering spirit residing in the man; all that was before him now was an empty shell, growing cold under the freezing rain.

Tamm breathed one last prayer for the departed before forcing himself to stand and turn away. He closed off the part of himself that grieved, leaving behind the corpse and turning to the rest of the wounded.


	5. Chapter 5

_**C**lick-click-click _went the knitting needles. With nothing to otherwise occupy her time over the past several days, Valandris had knit one shirt, four pairs of stockings, and now half a scarf. She could not deny that boredom had a certain way of fostering one's productivity, but all the scarves and stockings in the world could not make the boredom enjoyable. After all, she had not come all the way from Stormwind to knit like a housewife, had she?

She had managed to secure a corner in the tavern all for herself. Surrounding her were stacks of yarn that acted as a sort of barrier between her and the crowd, and for the most part she was left to knit in peace. She smiled when she was smiled at, nodded when appropriate, and pointedly ignored any ribald remarks directed her way.

The end of one needle tangled itself in the delicate yarn, threatening to unravel the nearby stitches. As Valandris set about carefully detaching the needle, a voice came from somewhere by her elbow.

"Afternoon."

Looking up to see Iyona, Valandris concealed her surprise with a smile. They had seen each other on several occasions since their encounter by the lake, but Iyona had avoided speaking to her each of those times.

"Oh, good afternoon!" said Valandris, her hands stilling on the needles. "Would you care to join me?"

Iyona perched on the edge of a chair a short distance away and offered a smile of her own. Her hands twisted in her lap and her eyes darted about the room, but she seemed determined to keep the smile pasted on her face no matter what.

"It's been rather a while, hasn't it?" asked Valandris. "You've been well, I hope?"

"Yeah," said Iyona with a nod. Seemingly as an afterthought, she asked, "You?"

"I have been as well, thank you. But I've found myself a bit, I don't know, listless; there's been little for me to do. It's very nice to have someone to talk to."

Iyona looked her once over. "What're you here for, anyway? It's obvious you're not from around here."

It was unclear from Iyona's tone whether or not this was an insult or a compliment, but Valandris preferred to think the latter.

"It's my parents, you see," said Valandris. "I come from a very long line of mages and enchanters, and my parents are eager that I should follow in their footsteps. And what better way to learn than leaving Stormwind and experiencing the rigors of the wild?"

Iyona's smile turned into a grin. "The wild, really? This place?"

Valandris quickly shook her head. "Oh, I didn't mean it like that. Goldshire is a wonderful town. But it provides me with more opportunities to practice my magic-- there's only so much you can do with target dummies, after all."

"So you're here to turn the Defias into a buncha sheep?"

"Something along those lines," said Valandris. "Once my parents are satisfied with my progress, I will be returning to Stormwind."

Iyona rose. "Sounds like you've got your work cut out for you. Good luck, Miss Valandris."

Valandris stood as well, not ready to put to an end the first real conversation she'd had in a week. "Before you go-- did you happen to like the dress?"

Iyona's smile turned sheepish, if not mildly defiant. "Haven't worn it yet."

"Oh-- well, perhaps you should, if only to try it."

After a moment's hesitation, Iyona shrugged. "Ah, nether, why not? You'll have to tell me straight how it looks on me; I don't get those city fashions."

With that, Iyona disappeared into the crowd and Valandris resumed her knitting. She felt a happy sort of glow within her that only came from knowing she had done a good deed: introducing an unfortunate street urchin to a world of finer things. Even if the authorities never gave her permission to join the militia, her time in Goldshire would have been made worthwhile.

Two familiar faces then caught her eye: Tamm and Symion. As the two navigated their way through the crowd, she was again struck by what an unlikely duo they made: the paladin and the dandy, one with a brooding scowl and the other smiling at anything that wore a skirt.

In spite of all of Symion's smiles, Valandris could not help but notice that he seemed somehow subdued. He looked back often at Tamm, as though afraid of losing him in the throng of people. And by the looks of Tamm, Symion had good cause to be concerned; the paladin had his gaze fixed straight ahead and he hardly seemed to be paying attention to where he was going, or even those he bumped into.

Valandris snatched up the half-finished scarf and waved it like a flag, hoping to draw their attention amidst the clamor of the tavern. She only succeeded in attracting the attention of a rather stout dwarf who smelled like cabbage. With a sigh (and an awkward smile to the cabbagey dwarf) she dropped the knitting back into her lap.

To her satisfaction, Symion did eventually look her way. He smiled at her (a tad more sincerely than his smiles had been towards the other women, she thought) and steered Tamm to her corner. Once before her, Symion bowed grandly and Tamm either nodded or simply twitched.

"Valandris, you're a sight for sore eyes," said Symion.

Somehow, the informal use of her name did not bother her as much as it should have. She greeted them both and requested they join her, which they did. Symion promptly ordered a round of drinks before turning his attention to her knitting.

"Sewing," he said with a profound nod, "How resourceful."

"Thank you, but it's not sewing so much as--"

Valandris trailed off as she saw Iyona edging around the mass of tavern goers, head down and shoulders squared.

When Iyona reached the trio in the corner, she failed to notice either Symion or Tamm. Arms akimbo, she demanded of Valandris, "What do you think?"

"I think you look very nice," answered Valandris, realizing this was actually true. The dress fit Iyona remarkably well, somehow managing to force the slender lines of her body into a more womanly shape. If one could ignore Iyona's unkempt hair and the dagger still hanging at her hip, one could almost imagine Iyona as a lady of good breeding.

Tamm spoke his first words for that evening, saying abruptly, "Miss Elras."

Iyona turned, only then noticing the men. Her eyes widened before narrowing as she said, "What are you doing here?"

Symion took over before Tamm could speak. "Why, can't two men find shelter from the bitter cold? You are cruel, Lady, very cruel."

Iyona huffed. "Maybe, if it weren't blazing hot out today."

Unruffled, Symion smiled, saying, "A technicality. Now, why don't you join us? Let Tamm buy you a drink."

"That's probably something he should offer, himself," said Iyona.

"What? A lady as pretty as you shouldn't refuse anyone her company; that's practically criminal."

"Yeah, yeah," said Iyona, rolling her eyes, obviously doing her best to squelch any signs that she appreciated his flattery. "Your friend doesn't like me very much, remember?"

Tamm straightened, meeting her eyes for a moment. "I don't mind, Miss Elras."

"Oh."

Just like that, Iyona ceased her arguments and sank into the nearest chair. Like before, she sat very straight, very stiff, hands clasped tightly in her lap. The dress she now wore only added to the image of austerity.

Symion, of course, had also noticed the change in Iyona's appearance. "You're looking lovely tonight, Iyona. There's something a bit different about how you look tonight; I just can't put my finger on it. Your hair-- tell me you did something with your hair."

Some of the tension eased from Iyona's shoulders and she grinned; something in her expression attempted to look annoyed, and failed. "No, not that."

"Hm…"

Symion tapped his nose thoughtfully as he studied Iyona with exaggerated thoughtfulness. There was nothing particularly lecherous about the manner of his attentions, but Valandris could not help but wonder how he and Iyona found such humor in the exchange.

Looking to the taller man beside him, Symion asked, "Tamm, what do you think it could be?"

"She's wearing a dress," said Tamm without looking up. He did not smile like the others did-- perhaps, like it had with Valandris, the humor of the situation went over his head.

The opening that Valandris had been waiting for in the conversation finally came, and she said very casually, "I made it."

She had intended to sound like all her peers in Stormwind who, in the course of any conversation, could graciously draw attention to their accomplishments, great or small. But the reactions of the others told her that she had somehow missed the mark. Iyona, of course, already knew (and hadn't been impressed the first time) and Tamm just continued to stare at his boots. Only Symion responded, and his quick grin was enough to salvage at least a little of her pride.

"Tamm," said Symion, lolling his head to one side to look at his friend, "buy us another round, won't you?"

"You've had too much to drink already."

"And you've had not nearly enough!" said Symion, shaking Tamm's still-full flask of port as evidence. "Really, you need to remember where you are. Nobody should be allowed to stay in Goldshire unless they've drunk themselves halfway into a coma."

"I think you mean," interjected Iyona, "Nobody _wants _to stay in Goldshire unless they've drunk themselves halfway into a coma. The rest should have too much sense to stay."

Symion smiled, flagging down the nearest serving wench. "And yet, here we are."


	6. Chapter 6

**I**yona Elras, if not entirely forthright with others, always strove at least to be honest with herself. She knew very clearly what she was, and what she was not. In matters of emotional delicacy, she had never considered herself particularly perceptive; she was largely content to keep the thoughts and feelings of others a mystery.

But it did not take the empathy of a sage to tell that something was not entirely right with Tamm Tosscobble on that night. Even as tipsy as she was, Iyona could see something unpleasant lurking behind his eyes, something bowing his shoulders. Tamm did not smile when the others smiled, or laugh when they laughed, but only acknowledged the others when absolutely necessary.

Brooding never sat well with Iyona. It made her uncomfortable, made her want to get away. On this particular man, it annoyed her more than usual.

"You ran off awful quick last time I saw you," she said abruptly, leaning in so he would know she was talking to him.

When Tamm did not answer immediately, Valandris spoke up. "They -- he and Symion -- had business in the mountains of Redridge, I believe."

Iyona frowned, hardly noticing the Symion was now every bit as solemn as Tamm. With travelers and adventurers passing through every day, news traveled quickly in Goldshire, and Iyona had heard enough about Redridge in the past week to have some idea of the cause of Tamm's mood. Her annoyance with him lessened as her embarrassment -- a sensation rather unfamiliar to her -- grew.

"I heard things got pretty bad over that way," she said softly.

Tamm nodded. His eyes met hers and this time, he did not look away. "Many men lost their lives."

It was an obvious thing to say, something that could have been written on one of the many notices posted outside town. But his tone carried such a weight that made every word painful to hear.

"Which isn't your fault," said Symion. "It's not anybody's fault."

"Just mine and Stormwind's," muttered Tamm. He took a long swig from his flask, the first he had touched it that night.

A frown found its way to Valandris' face. "I can't see what Stormwind has to do with any of--"

"Dear Lady Arinian," said Symion, cutting her off with a wave of his hand, "If you would permit my boldness in saying so, you are looking rather peaked. Some fresh air would serve you well, I think-- if you would allow me to escort you outside?"

Valandris consented, and a moment later, Tamm and Iyona were alone -- or as alone as two people could be in a crowded tavern.

"So," began Iyona, but Tamm did not look her way. She spoke again, louder. "So, Tosscobble -- sir -- I realized I never did thank you."

Tamm then glanced her way, green eyes attentive but questioning.

Iyona waved a hand vaguely in the air. "Not so much for the food -- which was nice -- but for, you know, not telling everyone about me."

Tamm stared at her a moment before saying, "Was I right to let you go, Miss Elras?"

"As long as you're asking me, yes."

"Have you stolen since then?"

A placating smile formed on Iyona's lips, along with the words, _no, of course not -- _but the hardness of his stare told her that lying would do no good. Instead, she shrugged and said, "Only when I need to."

"I find it hard to believe, Miss Elras, that you cannot come by honest work in this town. Light knows you have enough time on your hands."

Iyona said nothing.

Tamm turned fully to face her, his expression stern. "I would not like to see you in the Stockades," he said quietly. "You are not a hardened criminal, nor are your offenses severe, but the path you've chosen for yourself can only end badly for you."

"Then I'll not stay on it for long," Iyona said, barely loud enough for him to hear. She twisted her fingers together uncomfortably, adding after a moment, "Look, I'm sorry I was such a -- well, such a brat since we've met, especially considering how nice you've been."

To Iyona's satisfaction, Tamm actually smiled then. "'Brat' is an apt description, Miss Elras. But say no more of it."

A comfortable silence fell between them, even as the rest of the inn only grew noisier. Two familiar voices could be heard among the din, signaling the soon return of Symion and Valandris. Iyona only had a few more moments of privacy in which she could share her thoughts.

"You're a good man," she blurted, "and I can tell that if there was anything you could have done differently back there-- back in Redridge-- then you would have."

There was no time for Tamm to respond, but he did not need to. Something softened in his eyes, and in some small way, Iyona knew that she had repaid him.


	7. Chapter 7

"**I** know you."

Agatha Miller was the sort of woman one would expect to be warm and friendly, even maternal. The proprietress of Goldshire's only bakery was short and plump, with wrinkles crowding her perfectly round face and traces of flour streaking her gray hair. She wore only pink gingham dresses trimmed with genuine (she claimed) Lordaeronian lace.

Now, as Agatha snapped those three words at Iyona, there was nothing warm or maternal about her. She made no effort to hide her disdain; every wrinkle on her face oozed condescension. Even the tiny pink checkers on her dress seemed to bristle.

Iyona smiled, neither surprised nor dismayed by Agatha's reaction. Recognition from the townsfolk, however rare, was always followed with varying degrees of disgust or indignation. Feigned ignorance, with a touch of flattery, was the best response to such people.

"And I know you!" said Iyona. "And who couldn't? Your bread is only the best in the kingdom."

Agatha smiled humorlessly.

"Which is why," continued Iyona, "I'd like to work for you. A chance for greatness, you could say."

Still smiling, Agatha cast a pointed glance around the bakery, her eyes trailing with deliberate slowness over the pristine interior. Every surface was immaculate, every roll and pastry toasted to perfection. Looking back at Iyona, she asked in a voice just as sweet as the icing on the pastries, "Why would I need your help, child?"

"You do keep a very nice place Miss Miller, that's for sure, but it must not leave you much time for anything else. Why, if you let me lend a hand, I'll bet you could start courting again."

Iyona knew it was the wrong thing to say before the last word left her lips. Agatha's husband had died several years before, and long after the appropriate time of mourning had passed, she continued to avoid men. The look on the woman's face told Iyona that she might as well have suggested Agatha burn down the bakery.

"Or," said Iyona, much too brightly, "You could just have a nice person like me to keep you company. I'm sure we'll be, uh, very good friends."

Agatha's face tightened even more, the wrinkles rallying together around her mouth and eyes. "The truth is, young lady, a guttersnipe like you could only turn away customers. This establishment does have something of a reputation to uphold."

Iyona's smile tipped to one side and froze.

"Don't be too troubled," said Agatha. "I'm quite certain you'll be able to find work _somewhere. _The brewery, perhaps. Light knows anything goes there."

As Iyona made her exit, she knew that she could not begrudge the woman too much. After all, even if Agatha offered her no work, her unattended shelves had unknowingly provided many a meal for Iyona over the years.

Iyona's feet felt worn to the bone by midday. She had visited the cobbler, the fletcher, the cooper, the tailor, and even the brewery Agatha had so smugly suggested. While some encounters had been more promising than others, each ended with the same resounding _no. _

Finding herself back in the main square, she sought shade under one of the many tall trees hanging over the blacksmith. Iyona had always felt a strange sort of comfort there, even drenched by the smells of metal and woodsmoke. The acrid air was filled with the rhythmic clanging of hammers and the steady _whoosh _of the bellows. Men came and went, grunting and swearing and shouting at one another. Nobody ever noticed Iyona, which was exactly what she liked.

Iyona searched her pack and found a stale roll, another one of Agatha's unintended contributions. She picked at the hard crust until it broke back, revealing the softer white bread beneath. Peeling the crust away like one would the skin of an orange, she ate the doughy insides with small bites intended to make the roll last. The first bite reawakened her hunger, and the roll did not last very long after all.

Having finished her meal for the day, Iyona tilted her head back against the tree trunk and made herself more comfortable in the grass. Just then, the tousled head of Tamm Tosscobble appeared around the corner of the smithy. The paladin kept his eyes trained straight ahead as he walked; though the road would take him just feet from where Iyona sat, it was unlikely that Tamm would notice her.

Iyona scrambled to her feet and ran to the fence to balance precariously on its lower rung. Steadying herself with one hand, she waved with the other. The motion caused Tamm to turn, then stop in his tracks. He bowed low and said something, but the din of the smithy drowned out his words.

"Have to speak up!" she shouted, pointing to her ear.

"I said hello, Miss Elras!"

Iyona gestured down the road. "Can I walk with you?"

Tamm nodded and Iyona hopped off the railing to join him as he continued down the path. He walked considerably slower than before-- a courtesy to her, she suspected. Even after the noise faded behind them, neither spoke.

Only when the road began to branch off to a number of outlying farms did Iyona begin to feel uneasy. She wondered if Tamm had family he was visiting, or perhaps a sweetheart to call on. In either event, her tagging along would make her look like a fool, but she knew that Tamm would be too polite to tell her so.

Looking over at him, she asked, "Where you headed?"

"Westfall."

Iyona's brows shot up in surprise. She had not considered Westfall in her speculations; though she knew the road eventually wound up in that Light-forsaken territory, it was mainly used by people trying to get out-- not in.

"Visiting your folks?"

Tamm's expression altered very slightly at her question. "No," he said, "I intend to assist the militia."

"Right," she breathed. "Of course. Things are pretty bad there, aren't they?"

"Worse by the day. Had you ever been to Westfall before all of this trouble, Miss Elras?"

Iyona shook her head, and Tamm continued. "It was much different in its days of peace. Everything flourished-- people used to call it Lightfall, because it seemed that the Light's blessing had fallen over all the land."

"People, or you?"

Tamm blushed, cracking a smile. "That would be me, yes. It seemed much more clever back then, believe me."

They continued on in silence a little while after that. The forest began to thin, and the greenness of the grass faded as the path progressed. Westfall could not be far.

"What is it you'll be doing with the militia?" she asked when the silence grew uncomfortable.

"Any number of things; whatever they happen to need when I arrive. Perhaps a patrol of the remaining farms or a post at Sentinel Hill-- that's our last main line of defense. Or, if the Light would have it, I may join in an assault on one of the abandoned towns where the Defias have set up camp. There is talk that VanCleef himself may be hiding there."

One could not live in Azeroth without at least a dim awareness of Edwin VanCleef, leader of the Defias Brotherhood. Just the sound of his name -- or perhaps the thought of Tamm going off to fight him -- made Iyona's stomach tighten into a knot.

"I'd like to help," she found herself saying. A large part of her protested, having absolutely no desire to help, but she bit her tongue to keep from taking back her words.

The bridge marking the official border of Westfall could be seen not far ahead. Tamm stopped and turned to look down at Iyona, his expression neither surprised nor mocking. "I believe you would, Miss Elras. But it is too dangerous for a lady."

Iyona smiled up at him, saying, "Better this than picking pockets, don't you think?"

Rather than appearing pleased by this, Tamm only grew more solemn, his brows drawing together in consternation. "If this is about what I said the other night, pay it no mind. I have coin, if you need it. There is no cause to throw yourself into harm's way to--"

"You don't have to worry about me, Mister Tosscobble. I know I don't look like much, but I'm pretty handy with a dagger."

Tamm looked as though he would have liked to continue arguing, but instead, he nodded his agreement and they continued walking.

In truth, Iyona was not particularly handy with a dagger. Perhaps she should have been more apprehensive of the dangers awaiting in Westfall, but with a man like Tamm Tosscobble walking beside her, it was hard to feel afraid.


End file.
